


The Idiot Hymn

by Anonymous



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BUT THEY DO KIND OF DIE, Banter, Crack, Gen, Humour, I NEED TO BE ABUNDANTLY CLEAR, Insults, Jokes, Poetry, Rhyming, Stupidity, THE MCD IS A JOKE THING. THIS IS NOT EMOTIONAL OR SAD IN ANY WAY, casual disregard for the metre i chose on purpose, character death as a fun joke, disregard for each others’ company, do not take this seriously, hitting the word count minimum was fun, kind of, my entire motivation here was Let’s See What The Stupidest Thing I Can Do Is, no beta we die like stregobor fucking should have, nonsensical narrative, poem, roach as a plot device, rudeness, yes you heard me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A bard headbutts a horse. It is, of course, all downhill from there.OR: The chronicle of a series of mishaps, insults, unsavoury thoughts, and the truly baffling last moments of Geralt of Rivia, well-known witcher, and Jaskier, mildly dislikeable bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 25
Collections: Anonymous, The Witcher Quick Fic #04





	The Idiot Hymn

**Author's Note:**

> yeah no i can’t believe I’m willingly attaching this to my name in public either
> 
> (Edit: haha i am putting it on anon again)

The sun was bright, as was its right,

To jolt men from their reverie,

And so they woke, and one man spoke,

So sure, despite however he

Had managed to do damage to

His forehead as he rose-

As he sat up his head did thump

Against a horse’s nose.

“Are you alright? It was a fright,”

He mocked his silent friend.

“It was a horse,” with no remorse

The witcher did contend.

“She faulted me, assaulted me,”

Poor Jaskier did exclaim.

“She bruised my head and left me dead!

“She’s gone and turned me lame!”

The witcher scoffed, and held aloft

His shining silver sword.

“Get up and move, I’ve tasks to do.”

And motioned Jaskier forward.

“Your foolish horse has run her course.”

“My horse is not a river.”

“She struck me down, with but a frown-

“Why do you put up with her?”

The witcher huffed, his chest he puffed,

And made his way to leave,

With Roach in tow, prepared to go,

Bard left behind to grieve-

To mourn his bruise and sadly muse

Upon his idle agony,

And later, then, to meet again,

Thanks to Jaskier’s rampantly

Overstated, far inflated

Friendly false rapport,

At Geralt’s side with still no pride,

Composing his next score.

Upon the red-hued, scarcely viewed

And windswept, lonesome cliffs,

The witcher strode along the road

And pondered the what-ifs,

The untold tales, the many trails

His life could have gone down,

The different turns that he could earn

That freed him from his clown.

The bard was but a foppish nut,

A foolish opportunist.

He’d sing for any, for a penny-

The witcher’d just been soonest.

All his praises, golden phrases,

Were just empty words,

His lie-stuffed songs did not belong

Where they could still be heard.

But most of all, the greatest fall,

There where the plan did stick,

Was that, sadly, and most madly,

Jaskier was a dick.

Geralt did not, by a long shot,

Like the bard a bit-

A self-important, self-made portent

Sorely lacking wit,

Could never be the company

That Geralt wished to keep-

It’d ease his heart at last to part

With Jaskier’s damn upkeep.

His reputation for a station

Alongside hell’s worst bard?

Given the choice, he’d gladly voice

That life was not _that_ hard.

He didn’t long for Jaskier’s song

To clear his muddied name,

He’d dealt with worse against his purse,

The jobs were still the same.

Besides all that, the little sprat

Had picked a fight with Roach-

The one thing dear to Geralt’s cheer,

Whose honour, he encroached.

Perhaps this excess bitterness

Was a bit immoderate,

But in the end, Roach was his friend,

And Jaskier rather wasn’t.

And so he trudged, his chances judged,

Down the well-worn road,

His musing and his grumbling canned

His journey never slowed.

He still supposed he should have known

That Jaskier would run after-

With panting breaths and eyes like death,

And short of air with laughter,

As to provoke a sort of joke

From the situation,

Like Geralt left him, sadly prim

As some kind of oblation.

As though morn had these things borne

As a kind of dividend-

A kind of price, unkind, precise,

To being Geralt’s friend.

He rolled his eyes, quite unsurprised,

As Jaskier’s form caught up,

A horse and man, who seldom ran,

Were as swift as a holdup.

So then, again, the questioned when,

Of their next concurrence,

Did come to pass again so fast-

A regular occurrence.

“You left me there, bereft, I swear!”

The haughty bard accused.

And Geralt shrugged, reins tightly hugged-

This shouldn’t have been news.

“I’ve little care for if you’re there

“Or walking here beside me.”

Which was untrue, as Jaskier knew-

For Geralt did not like him.

“You callous man, see how I ran

“To stay here by your side!”

The witcher glared, at blue eyes stared-

“Spare me your silly pride.”

“And there’s my thanks! I made you bank!”

He said, as the one paid,

For every time he sang his rhyme

Of faux-recounted aid.

He clenched his jaw, his ugly maw,

As he scowled at the bard.

His nerves were short, and he did snort,

His honour had been scarred.

“I never asked to be the cast

“For your fool’s operetta.”

But, unchastised and scandalised-

“Yet your life’s gotten better.”

But it had _not_ , the bard forgot,

That monsters needed slaying,

A witcher’s job would not be robbed

If he were to stop playing.

“You pompous fool, you inbred tool,

“Your input is worth squat.

“Let’s not ignore what you sing for-

“My honour, it is _not_.”

Jaskier scowled, his airs uncowed,

And then he made his claim.

“I sing for you to get your due!”

“I never worked for free.”

The bard then sighed, and aired his pride,

“It looked like that to me.”

The witcher scoffed and held aloft

His knowledge and his head.

“Instead of cursing lies to verse,

“Try learning truths instead.

“You gave me no great boon, you know,

“The folk just think they know me.”

The bard considered, visage bittered,

What his next claim should be.

And Geralt faced the empty place,

Strange nose turned to the sky.

His face alight with bitter spite,

As Jaskier pondered why.

And sure, he might give men a fright

By virtue of existence,

But Jaskier was not quite the cause

Of any new assistance. 

They argued on, sharp voices drawn,

With insults hurled both ways.

Trudging forward, word for cruel word,

Phrase for biting phrase.

No love was lost, at any cost,

Between uncaring allies-

Such true kinship, mired in guilt-trips

Based in songs of lies.

Damn Jaskier was, by all the laws,

Nothing but a charlatan,

Bleating untruths though all men’s roofs,

As he danced in tarlatan.

And Geralt, well- besides the smell,

He was, too, repugnant,

His freakish face and lack of grace

Were also quite malignant.

Two disliked men, who met again,

Atop a reddish cliff.

Unloved by others, and each other-

Caught up in their tiff.

So arrogant, inelegant,

Caught up in hated bliss,

Neither one saw what was done-

That something was amiss

Their shouts vibrated, harsh, elated,

Off the soft cliffside.

Unhumbled, their path crumbled there,

And suddenly, they died.

**Author's Note:**

> local bard headbutts horse, gets abandoned by Witcher, finds said witcher, has shouting match, and dies.
> 
> art.


End file.
